


Salvation

by witch_brew



Category: Boyfriend to Death (Visual Novel)
Genre: Blasphemy, Death, Drowning, Gen, Gore, Other, Reader is gender neutral, Religion, chest stomping, hahaha, honestly this is prolly really offensive to someone lmao, noncon, priest!strade, really shitty priest tho, sacrilegious, you die
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-09
Updated: 2017-02-09
Packaged: 2018-09-23 00:48:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9632267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witch_brew/pseuds/witch_brew
Summary: You are so devout, and he will take advantage.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Im a bad person who is going to hell hi

You sit in the pew, head bowed. Praying. 

The church is empty. It usually is at this time of night. But you remain, praying, practically begging for some sign that your transgressions have been forgiven. You're so devout. 

It's a shame, really.

Maybe if you were less devout, you would realize the danger you are in. 

You startle at the firm hand on your shoulder, turning to look up at whomever is interrupting your penitence. 

It is the chapel's newest priest. Father Strade, if you recall correctly. He's one of the youngest priests you've met, as well as being one of the most attractive. You try to avoid him, for fear that his features might inspire sinful thoughts. 

You aren't sure where Strade lived last, but he has a faint accent that made you think he might be an immigrant of some form. 

You realize, abruptly, that you've been staring into the gold of his eyes for far too long, and you look away, cheeks flushing with embarrassment. You hope he doesn't believe you to be lusting after him. 

 

“My apologies for interrupting you, Liebling, but you looked so sad that I began to worry.”

His voice, as always, is friendly and comfortable. You relax unknowingly, a sense of safety settling over you as he speaks. 

You smile.

“Oh, don't worry, Father.” You manage after a moment, folding your hands neatly in your lap and continuing to avoid his intense stare. “I was praying for forgiveness for my sins.”

He smiles back at you, and you, being so devout and so trusting, don't see the hint of predatory excitement within his eyes.

“Would you care to confess to me, Liebling?” He asks, and you shiver slightly, glancing back towards the confessional booths. 

“I... don't like the booths.” You murmur, gaze downcast. “They're too small.” 

He nods, always so understanding, his hand still resting so firmly on your shoulder. 

“I see no need to go into the booth if you don't want to. If you want privacy, we can go back to the back. No one will be there.” 

You pause, considering, before meeting his eyes and nodding your head slightly. 

His energetic nature only grows as you rise, allowing him to guide you back into the small room in the back of the church, where the small pool for baptisms is. 

“So, my child,” Strade begins, rubbing your shoulder kindly, “tell me what sins bother you so.”

You bite your lower lip, trying not to think of how strong his hands feel. He would despise you, surely, if he knew how lustful your thoughts grew every time he's near.

“I... I have been dealing with sinful thoughts and urges, Father.” You say, quiet. 

Strade laughs quietly then, and when he speaks again, his breath warms your ear. 

“Like lust, Liebling?” 

You jump, spinning to face him as you stumble back. He just smiles at you, loosening the white collar at his throat. 

“F-father?” 

It's truly a shame, how devout you are. Truly. 

Your faith has made you a fool. 

Strade starts towards you, and you back quickly away before stumbling and tripping over your own feet. His foot quickly comes down on your abdomen, pinning you. 

Your eyes are wide with fear, and you part your lips to scream, but Strade is prepared for that. 

He stomps, once, on your chest. 

You choke on your scream, feeling the sharp cracking of several ribs, body tensing as tears begin to run down your cheeks. 

Strade smiles. Still so kindly looking. Still so calm. But his cheeks are flushed now, lust causing his gaze to grow heavy lidded. 

He removes his foot, and you turn to try and crawl away, gasping and sobbing in exquisite agony. 

His strong hand grips your hair at the roots, halting you. His breath heats the base of your neck as he crouches close. 

“I'm going to save you, Liebling.” 

He drags you forwards, into the pool of blessed water, and smiles at the horrified look on your face. His hand, tight in your hair, is the only thing keeping your head above the water. 

“Be sure to repent.” He breathes. 

And then he shoves you under.

You thrash and struggle, hands clasping over your nose and mouth to try and keep out the water. You feel Strade's other hand tugging at your clothes, but you're so focused on escaping the treacherous water that you don't pay any mind until you feel something hot and thick pressing against your entrance.

The hand in your hair rips you out of the water, allowing you to suck in several lungfuls of air, as he thrusts forwards, his entire length sheathing inside of you without warning.

You cry out, eyes wide, but he shoves your head back into the water before you can fully react. 

He thrusts into you violently, hips meeting your backside with a bruising force. You squirm against him, struggling to get your head above the water, so desperate for air. 

Your struggles only serve to further excite him. 

He pulls you up again, and you gasp in a single lungful of air before he shoves you back under. 

You don't want to die. 

You begin to grow light headed, the burn of your lungs as they plead for air growing too strong to resist. 

Your struggles weaken slightly as you finally suck water into your lungs. 

The burn only worsens, and you struggle harder in response. Strade seems to like the way you fight as you begin to die, his hips beginning to lose their rhythm as his climax nears. 

You gasp again. More water fills your lungs. Your vision blurs and begins to darken. 

You stop fighting. 

You close your eyes, allowing darkness to settle over you as the burn in your lungs finally fades. 

The last thing you feel is Strade pressing deep inside you as he spills, and then there is nothing. 

By the next morning, there is no sign you were ever in the church the night before. Your body is gone, no one is looking. 

Father Strade stands in the back of the church, watching the devout as they pray, and he catches the eye of another sinner. She is gazing at him, unaware that she has been caught, with barely concealed lust. 

Strade smiles.


End file.
